


Blanket Disclaimer!

by catchandelier



Category: all of them - Fandom
Genre: Blanket!, F/M, Gen, Purple Prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 06:44:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catchandelier/pseuds/catchandelier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I hate seeing people cluttering up their fanworks with disclaimers that no one ever reads- don't lie, you know you don't- so here's a blanket disclaimer that no one will ever read ever! Evil genius is I indeed!</p><p>There is also some very purple and generic(ish) smut. But since no one is going to ever, ever read this- come on, who actually reads a disclaimer? We all know why we're here, and it's not for original works-, I don't really think I care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blanket Disclaimer!

All works posted on this site are works of fanfiction, fanart, or fanwork UNLESS EXPRESSLY STATED OTHERWISE IN THE SUMMARY OF THE WORK ITSELF.

I claim NO OWNERSHIP OF ANY TRADEMARKED CHARACTERS USED. BUT I TOTALLY OWN EVERY SINGLE ORIGINAL CHARACTER, YOU SNEAKY THIEVES. But seriously, if you want to write recursive fanfiction- one, I expect a link or a note or something so I can squeal over you and it like an excited fangirl (which I am), and two, if you want to write a story in which one of my characters appears, please let me know- I'll probably be able to give you *speshul insaiht* into the character in question, things you wouldn't necessarily know just from looking at them in whatever story the came from.

All works on this site are DIRECTLY FROM MY BODILY FLUID SPLATTERED IMAGINATION, HOT OFF THE HORRORS OF THE UNKNOWN slithering out through my fingers and onto the glowscreen page. They are meant to entertain- or possibly terrify, whatever happens, happens. And they are in no way a part of the canon universe/story/continuity from whence they spawned.

I AM NOT PROFITING FINACIALLY IN ANY WAY FROM WRITING OR CREATING THESE THINGS. I MIGHT ACTUALLY BE LOOSING MONEY FROM DOING THIS- I'M CERTAINLY LOOSING SANITY. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY TIMES I'VE LOOKED UP PHASES OF THE MOON AND WEATHER PATTERNS AND BIOMES AND FUCKING MILITARY TIME? Well, it's been a lot of times, and ugh. No. I'm not doing this for money.

I'm doing this for the pleasure of devouring  _your sooooouuuuuul._ Heh. No one's ever going to read this, so i can say whatever i want. Sweeeeet. Actually, i'm doing this because, for some god(s)forsaken reason, i enjoy it. _  
_

I would like to take this moment to thank all the creators of these unreal worlds and things and people- they work hard, and I love what they do. So good.

That's everything i need for this blanket disclaimer, so.... since no one's ever going to read this, ever... I'm going to put some horrible smut in hur! Aw yeah! Smut! Really horrible smut!

* * *

 

_He plunged his full and flushed battering ram into her slickening tunnel, stretched wide and clenching with excitement- and as he did, she moaned, wrapped her legs around his waist, and gripped his arms hard enough to draw blood. He stopped completly, there within her, and she tried to force herself to breathe again- "_

_We can stop, if you'd like."_

_"No, I'm. I'm just- not used to anything bigger than my. Oof. Fingers. Hah."_

_"I don't want to hurt you-"_

_"You're not hurting me. Go on. I'm alright now-" and indeed, she had relaxed again, muscles once again hidden underneath soft fat and pale smooth skin. She smelled of flowers, somehow- even in this barren and winter-wasted place, she always managed to smell of the living world, and the world of things that grew, and he realized with a start that she smelled of violets suddenly crushed, their innocent scent rising from her skin in an invisible carress, and with a mumbled oath, he pressed his mouth to hers._

_She arched under him, and finally he began to move, his lips slowly and then roughly and quickly and strongly devouring every bit of flesh she would him- and for him, for him she opened like a flower in spring, like the bursting of a star, and her pink full lips and sweet red tongue and pale sharp teeth dug into his mouth like she was starving, simply starving and his mouth alone would sate her hunger._

_His thrusts steadily became more forceful, each one lining up into a steady, forceful rhythm; the violent slap of his balls against her buttocks became the only sound other than the crackle of burning wood in the grate and the creak of wickerwork ties and the soft huff of feathers squashing down under squeaking leather that either of them truly heard. The wind howled and screamed and moaned around rattling window panes, icy scratching the only indication of the outside world- but the delicate vibration of her moan fluttered through her voluminous breasts and the long bone between them, pressed hard against his chest- and her clenching desire squeezed and squelched around his steady thrusting, tore his mind from the chill of his sweat upon his muscled back, and her lips, her lips dragged him further down into the warmth of crushed violets and old ivory. She sighed, and arched back, her long lustruous torso flexing and moving with each forceful thrust, head shaking and wriggling with each new, overwhelming sensation; he tore away for a moment, and took in her sweating and shivering and all but undone._

_She swallowed, her lips so pink and full and her eyes, her eyes- he always knew there was some irresistable power in her eyes, and now, curvaceous limbs bare of any disguise, bare of her customary woolen garments- thick and brown and green and ugly, shapeless things that certainly kept her warm and her shape all but secret, and the warmth of her palms on his arms and the coolness of her fingers biting in, and her desire clenching around his arousal and he moans- she is bare of her woolen tights and the grey leather skirt that lightly skimmed the floor and made a shushing noise not unlike leaves on a tree in a gentle wind, bare of the head-swallowing hat that hid her face behind a facade of brown mush and respectability, and he didn't blame her one bit for it, her home is drafty at the best of times, and there's only so much wood a single person can carry inside before other chores must be attended to- and, truly, there is no practical way to heat a hallway. He understands._

_Still, she is bare of her restraining garments; the bedeviled restraint that wrapped around her chest and kept her beautiful breasts from moving even a bare inch, an ugly sack that wrapped over her place of glory- and now, and now he was buried alive inside of her, drowning in her, ready and willing to die in her and take her down with him, and neither of them are cold._

_Her thighs flex around his hips and her feet trace trenches against his spine, the cool press of her feet a sudden joy with every motion- her sharp nails dig into his upper arms and scrape and scratch and the sharp sting drives him harder, harder, harder; and then he can't stand it a moment more, and he rolls his hips forward and her hips down, and suddenly it's as if each movement is shooting lightning through her soul, lightning made of laughter and delight and the sweetling rush of carnal delight. He braces himself above her on his forearms, and now instead of thrusting with a full in and out motion- it almost feels as if, to her, as if- as if she was a pestle, and he a mortar, and he was trying to grind her sanity out between the two of them._

_Her hands find his shoulders, and this time they fist and claw and draw pale lines of redly welling blood- she squirms as he thrusts into a place that makes more than just lightning shoot through her, it makes flowers bloom across her flushed body and then his shoulders are pressed against her chest and his hands are holding her hips still with a force that shoots a sudden flame of roses across her belly. She can suddenly feel every roiling muscle of his body, can feel the hair that grows on his chest like a curly and well tended lawn scruff and scratch against her suddenly tender breasts and can feel the line being rubbed by the faint trail of rich brown hair down his body, can feel how it slinks down strong ovoids beneath faun skin, can feel each powerful movement of his thighs against the frame of the bed, can feel him steadily grinding into the place where her hair trails down, and down, until her mind is on the sensation of him deep inside her, of him moving inside her slowly now, steady and slow and thrusting deep and making lighting dance through her skin and flowers bloom in her soul and the stars, the stars- though there are none out in the grey night, she can almost see the stars dancing above her eyes, or is it perhaps- is it perhaps the flecks of many colors she's seeing, she's seen in his eyes..._

_And then her world goes bright white and gleaming, and for a second she is immortal, a gushing river of joy flowing from the frozen peaks of hell to the boiling, burning sea of death. She seeps back into her own head, and he is thrusting into her still, but also grinning, and his hipbone is no longer pressing against her- well, she calls the little salmon colored nub between her hair covered palace her little joyful friend who loves to be touched- and she is trying to remember how words work, exactly, but it's not going well, and slowly, slowly, she remembers her name, and how to speak- and then he's moved forwards and is doing it again, and again and again- until the bed beneath her quivering buttocks is drenched, and her legs are spread wide and limp against the puffy cream of the sheets, and he is thrusting still._

_Her face is pink and gleaming with sweat, fully lips puffy and pinker than ever, eyes hazy and short ceadar brown hair mussed and fluffy around her face, like a halo. A broad, glowing smile is stretched across her face- she grins up at him, and he grins back, and then, with shout, he thrusts into her harder than ever before, once, twice- three times, and then he is still, and in her oversensitive embrace she can feel him pulsate and can feel something slick and warm quickly spurt inside of her, stretching her- how much does he have? and then, and then he is a warm, heavy weight on top of her jelly-soft bones, still inside of her but soft now, and his moment of joy is slowly trickling out, the musky smell of it blending with her own sopping sweetness._

What have i done, sweet jesus what have i done.

fuck.

That was hot.

fuck. i need to do that more often.

Shitfuck. Damn.

No one is ever, ever going to read this. Right.

No one ever reads the disclaimer.

Okay, anyway, that's it, goodbye, goodbye, this has been my blanket disclaimer, goodbye.

 


End file.
